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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27886741">Metamorphosis</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/cedarbranch/pseuds/cedarbranch'>cedarbranch</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Episode: e101 Another Twist (The Magnus Archives), Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:55:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>657</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27886741</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/cedarbranch/pseuds/cedarbranch</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>met·a·mor·pho·sis<br/>/ˌmedəˈmôrfəsəs/</p>
<p><em>noun</em><br/>a change of the form or nature of a thing or person into a completely different one, by natural or supernatural means.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>44</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Metamorphosis</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>inspired by <a href="https://22ratonthestreet.tumblr.com/post/633070713661767680/sometimes-things-end-the-distortion-changes-faces">this piece of art</a>!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Everything goes according to plan. Michael finds the Archivist. He tells his story. He offers an escape, and the Archivist accepts.</p>
<p>Everything goes according to plan, until.</p>
<p>
  <em>”It’s locked.”</em>
</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Michael feels the wave coming before it crashes. It’s not about certainty, he doesn’t need to <em>know</em> what’s going to happen; the mounting horror is enough on its own. The doorknob clicks and rattles, lock firmly engaged, and for one wild moment, his panicked mind tells him, <em>it’s not true. It can’t be.</em> </p>
<p>The Spiral tears from him like an insect shedding its skin, and through the howling agony of transformation, Michael’s mistake is burned into him. The taste of fear is different when it’s his own. Fractals shatter and pierce through his very existence, cutting him out like a cancer, ripping every treacherous, terrified piece of self from the Distortion and flinging them as far as they’ll go. </p>
<p>He goes spinning into the ether, and reality melts around him.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Michael has never conceived himself as something that could end. He tries not to conceive himself at all. </p>
<p>That, perhaps, was a mistake.</p>
<p>He floats in a haze of not-quite-existence, caught between moments, as the planes re-align. His eyes are closed. His chest rises and falls steadily, each breath a flurry of molecules struggling to stay in place. </p>
<p>High-heeled footsteps clack against the floor. They slow to a halt, and Michael knows, instinctively, that he is no longer alone. </p>
<p>“I can make a door, if you’d like,” she says, cool and aloof. “It might be… easier.”</p>
<p>Her voice buzzes with fresh static—off-pitch, like a radio switching between channels. It grates in Michael’s ears. He swallows, squeezing his eyes shut tighter. “I don’t want one,” he says, his own voice weak and far-off. Missing something.  </p>
<p>“I’m only trying to be polite,” she says. “It’s more than you deserve. You did try to kill Helen.”</p>
<p>“I let her go,” Michael says distantly. </p>
<p>“I can let you go, too. Make things even.”</p>
<p>Everything is numb. Michael’s senses are beginning to fragment at the edges—not in the usual way, the delightfully questionable way that contradicts itself at every turn, but in a way that feels final. The lights are shutting off one by one. </p>
<p>“It’s not the same,” he says. </p>
<p>“I know.” </p>
<p>She cups his face with one graceful, bladed hand—too gently, like he might break. Perhaps he will. Her fingers are bony and sharp at the edges. His own have dissolved into pins and needles, their memory wiped away. “You weren’t meant for this,” she says. “I imagine it will be a relief to leave it behind.”</p>
<p>Michael’s mouth feels like it’s full of cotton. “Does it hurt, for you?” he asks.</p>
<p>“Does what hurt?”</p>
<p>“To become,” he says. </p>
<p>“It isn’t becoming,” she says. “Not like it was for Michael. It’s just… changing faces.”</p>
<p>Michael laughs faintly. It falls flat, with no echo, no reverberation, like the sound is swallowed by the air before it can even escape his throat. His chest constricts, and a dull throb of pain pulses through his head. “Maybe it will be a relief, then,” he says. For who, he’s not sure.</p>
<p>“You can leave whenever you’re ready. I’m not sure how long I can be both of us.”</p>
<p>“And what happens after?” </p>
<p>“I don’t know. I would imagine you just… stop.” </p>
<p>Michael nods. Not consciously, not in any way he can feel, but the way one does when they’re falling asleep. There’s a ringing in his ears now, a subtle fading-out as the last of his awareness slips away. “That would be nice,” slurs one frequency, harmonizing with the rest. “I think… I’ll take that door now.”</p>
<p>A doorknob clicks as its latch falls into place, and the hinges creak open. Beyond it lies a gaping void of silence. It beckons like a black hole, tilting the world on its axis until gravity draws him in.</p>
<p>Michael falls,</p>
<p>and falls,</p>
<p>and stops.</p>
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